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Do you remember the first time you made a snapdragon "talk”? Every child can tell you how to do it; just pinch the two sides of the flower’s ‘mouth’ together and you have the world’s favourite talking flower. For centuries, children have been among the most devoted fans of the snapdragon. But today there is another rapidly growing, equally passionate fan base for the flower: genetic scientists.
Out of the garden and under the microscope, snapdragons are helping scientists discover the very genetic mechanism that tells flowers how to be flowers. Snapdragons (antirrhinum) are unique because they have transposons, bits of DNA that jump around, and when they jump into a gene they cause a mutation. Focused on antirrhinum, for the last several years a 200 million-dollar international research project has been underway to answer the pioneering question: what is the genetic evolution of plants and plant diversity on earth? The answers will also shed light on the evolutionary origins of genes themselves. Like the splitting of the atom a century ago, this is the kind of thrilling research that geneticists dream of being involved in. But what I really want to know is, in those quiet moments in the lab, when nobody else is around, can they resist making the flowers talk?
Outside the laboratory, the snapdragon is one of the sexiest little beasts in the garden – think of them as the Austin Powers of the plant world. Plant pollination, like human reproduction, requires a partner, and flowers will go to great lengths to attract them. But not many can beat this one for its flamboyant, stylish technique for, well, getting lucky.
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In the snapdragon, the two lips of the flower are tightly closed, the lower one decidedly projecting. A small insect reaching this lower lip as a natural landing place finds no entrance to the delicious pollen at the bloom’s core. But when a plump bumblebee alights on the pouting lower lip, its weight depresses it and it forces the hinged petals open. To be perfectly frank, seeing a bumble bee buried in a snapdragon blossom is one of the most voluptuous sights in the garden.
It's this opening and closing, jaw-like movement of the antirrhinum that has endeared it to us for centuries, and earned it some of its colourful monikers. Antirrhinum is a combination of the Greek anti for ‘like’ and rhin for ‘snout’. Even its common names pick up on the image: hound's head, calves' snout, lion's mouth and, the most familiar, snapdragon. They belong to the family scrophulariaceae, where it rubs shoulders with Monkey-Flower, Turtle-head and Toadflax. (No wonder J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, takes so many of her words and names from old botanical texts!)
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Our most common garden variety is antirrhinum majus, an Old-World flower thought to have originated somewhere in the Mediterranean. No one is sure when snapdragon was first cultivated, but the ancient Roman writer, Pliny, recommended applying the leaves to swollen, runny eyes.
The plant’s seeds also yield an oil that was once used like olive oil for cooking. During the dark and, let’s face it, paranoid, middle ages another vital use for snapdragons was discovered: protection against sorcery! Claims for its effectiveness against spells were still being repeated in the seventeenth century.
In case you’ve forgotten, and there are no kids around to help you, the trick of making the snapdragon talk is simple: all it takes is a gentle squeeze on the ‘cheeks’ of the bloom. Try it next time you see a snapdragon, and you’ll rediscover why this is the flower that turns children into gardeners, and gardeners into children.
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